Alive
by EOlivet
Summary: She didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to feel anymore.


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong to Hank Steinberg, Jerry Bruckheimer Television Productions and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Timeline: Post-Maple Street.  
  
Acknowledgments: Huge special thanks to Anna for everything she does for my writing. And to the Bruck forums for keeping me (in)sane and for everything they've done for this wonderful show. Especially lac and Eve for immortalizing this fantastic episode on their sites. And ZB, for always being so supportive.  
  
Rating: TV-14. Jack and Samantha pairing ahead...  
  
For S. She knows why.  
  
***  
  
Alive  
  
***  
  
She'd never been so grateful for traffic on the expressway, to have her car come to a stop and see the sea of red brake lights illuminated in front of her. Even the normally piercing sound of other drivers' car horns was not altogether irritating. Samantha needed to hear and feel the chaos of the city -- the noise, the crowds, the dirt -- if only to distract her from the peacefulness of the town she'd just left -- the outwardly happy-looking town that now harbored its own kind of quiet chaos.  
  
Ravenwood. God, she couldn't even think of the town without seeing that home movie -- hearing the silly, sublime chant in her head of two innocents -- one gone and one whose innocence was forever lost. Her eyes blurred in front of her and for what must've been the hundredth time that day, she wiped them with the back of her hand.  
  
A horn blasted in her ear -- traffic was moving and apparently she was not moving with it. Gripping the steering wheel, she felt that familiar flash of irritation return, followed by a brief moment of fury. There are more important things than getting to wherever you are in such a hurry to go, she wanted to tell them. Then she smiled slightly, in spite of herself. She was not so far consumed by her grief that she couldn't be bothered by the incessant honking of car horns. God, she'd been in the city too long.  
  
Traffic was now alternating between a steady clip and a crawl, and she realized with everything that had happened, she'd forgotten to call in and give some kind of report about where she was, according to standard Bureau procedure.  
  
Samantha fished the phone out of her pocket and pressed the button to connect her with the office. Awkwardly typing in the numbers for her desired extension, she cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as the traffic thinned out and resumed its normal speed.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She almost dropped the phone. "Martin?"  
  
There was a brief pause on the other end. "Samantha?"  
  
"I must've dialed the wrong extension," she decided. "Can you, uh, transfer me to Jack?" A beat. "I, I just left Ravenwood and I wanted to check in."  
  
"Sure." There was another short pause. "Hey...you're okay, right?"  
  
She forced herself to smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thanks." Silently, she begged that he wouldn't ask her any more questions.  
  
"Good. Okay, I'll transfer you -- hold on..." There was a familiar click and then silence. She focused on the road ahead, on the approaching toll booth -- all her attention fixated on finding and steering her way into the shortest line. It felt good to accomplish something today.  
  
"Samantha?"  
  
Jack's voice startled her, and she felt hot and cold, her control slowly melting away. "I just left..." she managed -- her voice timid, but steady.  
  
"I knew I should've sent somebody with you." He was upset. He knew. Despite her best efforts to keep it together, he knew. Her face crumpled and she gripped the steering wheel even more tightly. Luckily, the traffic was once again not moving.  
  
"Are you okay to drive? I can send somebody to get you." His tone was anxious -- he was blaming himself. It wasn't his fault that she had somehow lost the ability to keep it together.  
  
"No -- I mean, yes, I can drive and-- I, I just got into town." She was struggling for words that wouldn't come.  
  
"Sam..." Just like that, it was no longer a workplace concern -- a boss worrying about a member of his team.  
  
His voice made her want to forget, need to forget about everything work- related. "I know that we had agreed before not to..." the words came out in a rush. "But I need..." She let the question hang in the air, fully aware and absolutely not caring about its implications at this point.  
  
She could hear him breathing, not speaking, and she pressed her lips together to keep her emotions in check.  
  
"I know. It's okay," he replied softly. "I'll see you when you get in."  
  
"I just have to return the car." It was silly, but that simple detail seemed to have replaced her distress with anxiety. They hadn't seen each other like this in...in a long time, having been forced -- or agreeing -- to keep their relationship confined to cryptic comments and the occasional innocent, quasi-accidental touch.  
  
"I'll see you then." There was identical anxiety in his voice.  
  
Before he -- or she -- could say anything else, she switched off the phone.  
  
He'd known just what to say, what to do for her. She'd almost lost it that morning, but she kept it together for Annie. And later for Siobhan. All those hours of video and it was still so hard to believe that Annie was dead. How could someone who looked that alive have their life... Biting down on her lip, she successfully kept the tears at bay. No, she didn't want to think anymore -- didn't want to feel anymore. That was what tonight would be about -- forgetting. Blocking out the last few days, burying her grief so deeply that it could never hurt her like this again.  
  
It was at least several minutes later when she'd finally fought through all the traffic and arrived at the Bureau to return the car. She thought briefly about stopping by the bathroom to apply fresh makeup or at least brush her hair, but that would've taken time she didn't have. The anticipation was gnawing at her stomach, and her only thought was to get there, to get to him as fast as she could without attracting too much attention. It was somewhat of a walk from the Bureau, but she simply did not have the patience to try to get a cab at this hour.  
  
There was life happening around her -- life surrounding her -- life passing her by, as she walked determinedly up the city streets. It was loud and bright and painful, and she wanted to shut it all out.  
  
Samantha began counting down the blocks in her head as she passed each one -- a welcome distraction from the world around her. 5...4...3...2...1. No turning back now.  
  
She hadn't been there in a long time, but the place was hard to forget. It used to be as familiar to her as her own apartment, with all the time she'd spent here. Once -- only once -- she'd gotten locked out and had to go to the front desk and ask for a key. They'd assumed that she was Jack's wife and at the time, it had seemed funny, but when he came back, she'd found an excuse to leave and spent the night in her own apartment that day.  
  
She was staring at the door, feeling a strange sense of recognition mixed with something resembling sheer terror. It was nothing. It meant nothing. She quietly knocked on the door.  
  
When Jack opened the door, her emotions assaulted her -- springing forward into his arms, as if she hadn't seen him in weeks. She attacked his mouth with hers, slamming the door shut behind them and pressing him up against the wall. God, she just needed to make it stop, make it stop...  
  
His arms had encircled her back, his other hand cradling the side of her face. He was kissing her back, but tenderly, sweetly. Suddenly, she tasted her own tears and felt her legs start to give out.  
  
Now he was holding her and stroking her hair and they were not kissing but embracing, as she held onto him like a lifeline and sobbed against his chest.  
  
"Annie's mom...Jack...I didn't...I mean, what could I..."  
  
"I should've sent somebody with you," he lamented, his voice tensing slightly. He paused a moment before adding. "I should've gone with you."  
  
Samantha shook her head, then raised her eyes. "I asked to do this." Her words came out just above a whisper. "Don't blame yourself."  
  
Jack was looking at her, holding her, and she felt her resolve weakening. That promise she'd made to herself tonight about burying her feelings was becoming easier and easier to break. For along with her grief, there was something else she hadn't intended.  
  
"No." Her voice broke on the word. "I can't. I, I'll see you tomorrow." The words tumbled out as she forced herself out of his embrace, her hand shaking as she found the handle of the door, slipping through the space like a ghost. The soft click of the door catch pounded in her ears as she stood there in the hallway.  
  
The air was close and heavy, and it choked her as she waited for the elevator. All her emotions warred for control -- grief, anger, warmth, security, fear and the one that threatened to overtake them all. The one that halted her every step into the elevator, out to the lobby and onto the street.  
  
Her tears were gone -- defeated -- and she was left with a dull ache from the feelings she could not have and the guilt, pity and self-loathing that accompanied them.  
  
The world swirled around her and for once, she did not notice it, as one foot willfully moved in front of the other until she was somehow standing in front of her apartment door.  
  
It seemed she'd stood in front of many doors this week. That was their customary method of delivering news -- good or bad. News that brought joyful screams and tears of relief or anguished screams and tears of pain. And nobody who answered the door ever knew which it was going to be. It was the sickest version ever of 'I've got a secret.'  
  
Samantha unlocked and opened her door and was greeted by no one -- no shouts, no sobs and nobody's arms around her. She was alone -- alone like Mrs. Miller, who'd lost the one thing in her life that she truly cared about -- alone like Siobhan, who would go through the rest of her life being told she was "lucky" even though the little girl's grief most likely ran as deep as Mrs. Miller's loss right now.  
  
Pulling the door firmly closed and locked behind her, she walked almost timidly to the phone and picked up the receiver. Her fingers shook as she dialed the numbers and sank down on the bed, cradling the receiver against her ear. She braced herself against the impending harshness of each ring, and in spite of everything, felt the corners of her mouth turn up at the sound of the voice on the other end.  
  
"Hi, Mom -- it's Samantha..." For the second time that day, she let her tears fall freely. And for the first time that day, she did not have to stop them.  
  
The End. 


End file.
